1.01 - Pilot
Hello, listeners, it is midnight on Mercy Mountain once again, and I, Julian Glass, am here to soothe your nocturnal souls.
[intro]
It was an especially hot and humid one today, with the heat index surpassing 100. Mercy Mountain residents are stirring from their heat-imposed torpors to carry out tasks they could not complete in the height of the day.
Elderly Juniper Solo is busy in her garden as the heat of the sun dissipates into the thick, cooling air. Juniper hauls flagstones to cover up the journals she has buried amongst a moonlit expanse of black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, petunias, and butterfly bushes. A bat swoops by overhead, shaking Juniper out of her focus. She turns her face up to the velvety sky in an attempt to glean the path of the flying creature. After taking a deep breath of midnight air, she returns to her work of rearranging her garden.
Carter Bycofski runs with his dog past the vacant haunted lot on North Paris Green Street, sporting his usual reflective vest, leather pants, and bright headlamp.
The workers at the Sonic on Maple Street seem to have started a rave. Multi-colored lights flash violently from inside the restaurant, and you can hear their howls and shrieks from over a block away.
The Smiths—not the rambunctious family that lives on Trillium Avenue, but the middle-aged couple who work at the library—sit on their couch in their dark living room, the only source of light their flickering television screen. Carrie tightens her arm around her wife’s shoulders in a reactionary move as The Boys makes them both jump yet again. No one tell them any spoilers!
A cool breeze swoops down along the mountain as the glowing eyes of a coyote emerge from a ravine. They scan the immediate surroundings with vigilance. Then they vanish. There is not another sign of the coyote.
The traveling carnival is shutting down for the night after a long day of cultivating pleasant memories and unfulfilling eating habits. Be sure to visit by Monday, when they will be gone, taking their cotton candy and funnel cakes and vinegar-coated fries with them for another year.
The self-proclaimed wizard, the one who lives in the blue trailer on the edge of town and calls himself Znerp, is busy divining his own past. He cannot remember last night; [conspiratorially] he got a little drunk.
Some folks, on the other hand, are readying for bed.
My roommate and sort-of partner, Shinji, turns off the television and brushes their teeth as they wait for their Sleepytime Tea to steep. After their tea is ready, they bring it to their cozy bedroom and turn on the bedside lamp. They settle into bed, opening a tattered book and sipping their steaming tea. I hope they rest well for tomorrow. Good night, dear Shinji.
Listeners, have I ever told you how we met, Shinji and I? It is at least a mildly interesting story. We met three times four years ago, but it didn’t really “stick” until the third time. I don’t even know if Shinji recalls our meeting the first two times. That first glorious meeting was at a dog park. Our dogs, Miles and Satsumaimo, started playing together. …After Miles stole one of Satsumaimo’s toys. We met again at a mutual friend’s party when we were both lurking by the food. The third time, we were on opposing teams in a volleyball league. Shinji spiked the ball directly into my face. At the end of the match, I professed my undying love for them, they…laughed…and then they gave me their number!
In the early evening, Mercy Mountain Community Recreation held their weekly summer Scottish Highland Dance class for beginners. Merilee Williams practiced the first step of swords in the corner of the studio as pop music blared from the next room and the instructor called out steps of a different dance to another student. Merilee struggled to focus amid the sounds of other people. She bungled her pas de bas over and over again. Frustrated, she closed her eyes and tuned all her attention to her feet, turning around and around the swords until she got it right. Good work, Merilee.
This morning, two teenagers visiting their aunt went out to drive along the river. Their aunt, an ornithologist, pulled over and quietly climbed out of her truck. She pointed. Her nieces followed her out of the vehicle and gazed along the gesture’s path. The older one gasped in excitement: a bald eagle! The bird surveyed them coldly from afar, not close enough to be uneasy at this imposition. Pleased, the family returned to the truck to find their next little adventure.
I went on a short hike today in the woods. I found a spot overlooking the river and set up my hammock. I took a nap amid the peace of bird calls and insect cries, among the breezes and swaying branches. I think I learned what peace is.
[interlude]
Just a brief reminder, folks, not to wander along the banks of the New River at night. The extraordinarily tall people in red robes fish for catfish and loose souls there in the darkness.
There are bobbing lights across the mountains. Pay them no attention.
The night train rumbles through, though we cannot see it, we know of its passage only through its growling rumble.
Ah, here comes the weekly flash flood. There has been no rain—you may have noticed, these floods do not occur when there has been rain or snowmelt—yet waters roar between the riverbanks nonetheless. The flood takes only a few beavers downriver with it each time, but I advise you to avoid the river and its tributaries anyway.
Mm, and now I can hear the haunting call of the great horned owl off in the distance. That means it is time, listeners…time to end this show and begin something else anew. Stay tuned for the sound of wind chimes made from empty soy sauce bottles singing over your radio. Have a wonderful rest of your night, Mercy Mountain.
